


The Case of the Ripper

by ingberry



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Victorian, London, M/M, Minor Violence, Oral Sex, fake gentlemen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingberry/pseuds/ingberry
Summary: London, 1888.A murderer is terrorizing the city. Nicky and Joe have worked their way into London society and the streets of Whitechapel to put an end to the bloodshed.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 31
Kudos: 144
Collections: AUgust 2020





	The Case of the Ripper

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for AU-gust prompt "19th century"! This is my first fic for this fandom, which is really exciting and also terrifying. I just want Nicky and Joe running around Victorian London so here we are, really! Sorry for historical inaccuracies, it's all in good fun. 
> 
> See end notes for some disclaimers about names and suspects. 
> 
> Thanks to Zaira and Emjayelle for their cheering and feedback!
> 
> I would also like to say that culturally, we have focused more on the mystery of Jack the Ripper than the murder victims (this story included!). I highly recommend the book _The Five_ by Hallie Rubenhold which focuses on the life story of the victims and challenges the idea that they were all prostitutes. It's a great read!

_London, 1888_

The soprano hit a clear high note that filled the entire room. She had a voice that drew an audience in, suspending them in moments of tense attention, making the hair at the back of their necks stand up. 

Annie Maugham sat at the edge of her seat, hands folded on her periwinkle dress, with an expression of wonder on her face as she listened. Her chaperone, Mrs. Williams, was also enraptured in the performance. Even Nicky felt his concentration slip and drift towards the stage. 

The solo reached its crescendo, the strong voice reverberating through the theatre. Collectively, the tension exploded into vigorous applause and Miss Maugham sank back into her chair with a heavy sigh. She leaned into Nicky. 

“Isn’t she marvelous?” She was breathless with admiration. “Outstanding!” 

“She is very good.” 

“ _Very good_? Is that truly all you can allow such a talent, Mr. Giraldi?” Miss Maugham said, amused. “You are not very gracious with compliments.”

“Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it? She _is_ very good.” 

The soprano was a great performer, but Nicky had watched opera before. In Germany, in Britain, in Italy. He was, perhaps, a bit spoiled. Joe would certainly say he was. Not to mention snobbish about the superiority of Italian opera, and the British singers’ inauthentic accents. 

“You are impossible,” Miss Maugham said, laughter in her voice, turning her attention back to the duet now unfolding. 

Shifting in his chair, Nicky attempted to keep his attention not on the stage, but on Lord Alexander Howard, Duke of Winchester and a handful of other titles. The box he was occupying was four boxes to their right, by Nicky’s count. But since Nicky’s short conversation with Annie Maugham, Howard seemed to have moved out of sight. 

Nicky waited, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. All he needed to know was that Howard was still there. He slipped his hand into his pocket, brought out his pocket watch and fumbled it onto the ground on purpose, as far from himself as he dared to. He shot Miss Maugham an apologetic look and dove for it, looking towards Howard’s box as he picked it up. 

Howard wasn’t there. A woman and a small party of women surrounding her were the only occupants. She didn’t look particularly pleased, speaking to one of them as she gestured sharply with her hands. 

Nicky leaned back, cursing inwardly. 

If Howard had left, this whole evening was for nothing. But Nicky couldn’t very well leave his company without rousing suspicion, so there was not much he could do until the opera was over. Yet, why would Howard leave in the middle of the performance? His companion didn’t seem to know that he would leave before the event finished. Had Howard planned it all along, or had something come up? 

Nicky frowned, running his fingers over his pocket watch. Howard couldn’t possibly know someone was looking into him, and especially not tonight. Who would have told him? Maybe he just had that instinct one sometimes got that someone was watching. 

At last, the opera finally ended and Miss Maugham was on her feet, applauding enthusiastically. Nicky remained seated until she gave him a disbelieving look. Without much enthusiasm, he stood up and realized this gave him a better overview of Howard’s box. He hadn’t returned. 

“Who knew you were so peculiar about operas, Mr. Giraldi.” Miss Maugham smoothed out her skirt. “I suppose you must see many great operas in Italy.”

“Oh, yes, many,” he said, and held out his arm to lead her out of their box. “However, this was no doubt the finest I’ve seen in Britain.” 

She laughed. “Truly! And this is your level of enthusiasm? I should like to see the ones you didn’t much like.”

“Well, most are good enough to enjoy in good company. The accents are distracting sometimes.”

“Oh, of course! That never occurred to me. I truly forgot you understand every word. Will you translate it for me?” 

“That would take quite a long time, Miss Maugham.” He smiled at her. “It’s about love.”

“Isn’t it always,” she said as they joined groups coming out from the boxes around them. 

Nicky kept an eye out for the duke as he escorted Annie Maugham to her carriage. 

“You must come and play cards on Saturday,” she said. “Father always hosts a card game on the weekend and he would love to have you visit again.” 

“I would love to. I do have a friend coming from Italy this week.” Nicky held her hand as she followed her chaperone into the carriage. 

“Bring him,” she said. “The more the merrier!” 

Nicky disappeared back into the crowd as the carriage rounded the corner. He went back into the theatre, searching for any sign of Howard. At last, he saw the woman from Howard’s box alone with her companions. He had left sometime long before the end of the performance. Nicky had no way to find out where he’d gone. 

Reluctantly admitting defeat, Nicky slipped back out of the theatre and crossed the street, weaving between the carriages parked outside. He stepped down a side street and slipped his coat on. 

It was late October and after a few mild days, London weather had turned cold. Nicky’s breath curled out into the air in front of him and he regretted not bringing gloves. It was a long walk to the apartment he and Joe had found on a quiet, anonymous street, strategically placed in Aldgate. But he had nothing but time this evening, since he was supposed to be trailing Howard while Joe did his part. 

There was nothing to do about that now, though. Posing as a visiting gentleman from Italy, inventing a connection to the Maughams, he’d managed to worm his way into London society, attempting to get closer to the Duke of Winchester. Tonight was the closest he’d been. Still, maybe it wasn’t all wasted. He could find out who his female companion was, perhaps. And maybe the people around the duke were more valuable than he was. They could lead them to a position where the duke was unguarded, in the company of friends. 

As Nicky made his way into shadier neighborhoods, he attracted more looks. He had made sure his gentlemanly clothes were as plain as possible, to blend in better in less affluent areas of town, but there was no hiding that his coat was high quality. He would be worried if it wasn’t for the fact that he would most likely wake again if he was murdered for his apparent riches. 

When he was nearly back at the apartment, he changed his mind and decided to head to the pub to end his night on a lighter note. He passed several busy public houses on the way to the one Joe had found on their third day in London. Leave it to Joe to find the haunts that accepted the two of them and others like them besides. 

The pub was in an unassuming building down a side street from a number of other, more popular, public houses. It was a simple, but respectable haunt. Clean and warm. Nicky entered and headed straight for the bar. Normally, he would be worried about the way he was dressed, but no one in the pub even raised an eyebrow. He assumed he wasn’t the first (apparent) gentleman to cross the threshold. 

“Good evening,” he said, a bit stiffly. Usually, Joe did the ordering since he didn’t look like he came straight from a gentleman’s lounge. 

The barman nodded in greeting. “Evening,” he said, wiping down the counter. “Your friend isn’t here.”

“Ah,” Nicky said. “I didn’t think so. It’s a bit early. I’ll have a pint and wait for him.” 

The barman poured him one and as Nicky closed his hand around the cold glass, a man sidled up next to him. For a brief moment, he thought it might be Joe, but when he turned it was a tall man with a dusting of freckles across his fair face. He grinned at Nicky and leaned against the bar. He wasn’t unattractive, Nicky supposed. He had a charming smile, and a slightly predatory look about him that could be attractive in the right circumstances. 

“Evening,” the man said, his voice deep. “You’re a fresh face.” 

This was the problem with coming to the pub without Joe. 

“I’m afraid I’m waiting for someone.” He wasn’t in the mood to flirt, even if it might make Joe delightfully grumpy.

The man winked at him. “That’s not a problem.”

Back when Nicky and Joe had indulged in the occasional guest in their bed, Nicky might have taken him up on it. The man was about two hundred years too late for that, however. They had long been in a bubble where they travelled alone, rarely letting anyone into their little world, for any reason at all. 

Nicky smiled and turned to the barman. “Get the man a beer, on me. It’s all I can offer, I’m afraid.”

The man shrugged and leaned his elbows onto the bar. “Suit yourself.”

Nicky went to the very back and slid into the booth in the corner. He sat with his back to the room and shrugged his coat off. It was too hot to keep it on, even if the waistcoat he was wearing was out of place. Some of the other patrons glanced at him, but the regulars were used to him at this point. 

Nicky had started on his second pint when a hand ghosted down his arm and Joe slipped into the booth opposite him. Nicky suppressed a shudder and smiled at the feeling, meeting Joe’s eyes. 

“I didn’t expect you to be here so soon,” Joe said, hooking his legs around Nicky’s underneath the table. “My little gentleman.”

Nicky snorted. “I might be yours, but I’ll never be a gentleman even if you put me in a waistcoat.”

Joe grinned, tipping the glass against his lips to take a sip. He, unlike Nicky, looked as grimy as the part of town they were in. His clothes were worn and there was dirt on his cheek that Nicky reached over and brushed away with a swipe of his thumb. It was stubborn. Nicky brushed his thumb across it several more times until he was doing little else but caressing Joe’s cheek. Joe turned his head and pressed his lips to Nicky’s wrist. 

Nicky reluctantly pulled away. 

“Howard disappeared from his box, leaving his companion. She seemed upset, so if it was planned, she might not have known about it. There was no way for me to look for him without leaving Miss Maugham.” 

“Slippery bastard,” Joe said, running a hand through his hair. “Nothing to do except find a new plan.”

“No,” Nicky conceded. 

“One of my sources says Howard has been frequenting Whitechapel for a long time, for God knows what reason. What does a duke want in Whitechapel often enough that someone has noticed him, even in the disguise he is surely wearing? I can’t imagine he showed up in Whitechapel in his finery.” 

“But there’s nothing connecting him directly to the victims. Nothing we can prove.” 

Joe made a face. “No, he seems to be too clever for that.” 

“Even if we suspect, I don’t know if we can find enough evidence to make the courts believe that a duke is Jack—”

“Don’t,” Joe said, nudging Nicky’s leg. 

Nicky pressed his lips together. Joe was right: they were talking too freely. It wouldn’t do if someone overheard them conspiring against the Duke of Winchester, accusing him of being Jack the Ripper. Nicky didn’t want to be hanged. It was so tedious. 

“How is Miss Maugham?” Joe asked, voice light. 

“Delightful as ever,” Nicky said, eyebrow raised. “The least objectionable woman in London’s society, no doubt.” He really did like Miss Annie. She was a kind and charming woman, with more life in her than most of the English aristocracy. 

“Did you enjoy your date at the opera?” 

“It was quite enjoyable,” Nicky said, not sure why he felt the need to respond in kind to Joe’s needling. “She invited me to play cards on Saturday.” 

Joe leaned against the back of the booth, drawing one leg up to rest his arm on his bent knee. “What a treat.”

Nicky hid a smile into his beer. “I told her I have a friend from Italy arriving and she said to invite him. The more the merrier.”

“Oh?” Joe said, feigning interest. “Who are you expecting?”

“Come with me,” Nicky said. 

“And interrupt your ascension into fashionable society? I could never.”

Nicky rolled his eyes. “I worry that if Miss Maugham spends more time with me, it’ll be interpreted as courtship. At first, it was easy to explain it away. She was just being kind to a foreign guest on her father’s urging. But the more I spend time with her, the more I toe the line.”

“I suppose it’s a good sign that you think they’re more likely to believe you’re courting her rather than pegging you for a fraud.” 

“They don’t seem suspicious, but the longer it takes, the more likely it is someone will ask questions.” 

Joe nodded, tipping back the last of his beer. “A man at the bar is looking at us.”

While pretending to brush something from the sleeve of his shirt, he glanced over his shoulder. “Ah. He propositioned me before you got here.” 

“You’re really trying my patience today, Nicolò.” 

*

The walk back to their tiny one room apartment was short, but it was a cold night, and Joe’s coat was too worn to keep him particularly warm. Nicky tried to force his own coat onto him, but Joe refused (“You do realize what it’d look like walking next to you with a gentleman’s coat over me?”). 

The door creaked when they entered, and inside there was still a lingering whisper of warmth from the fire they’d lit this morning. Nicky hung up his coat and walked straight to the hearth to light it again. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, squatted down by the fireplace and piled the wood inside. At the other side of the room, Joe stretched on their bed. Nicky watched the fire for a while, careful to not let it die out. 

Once he was sure it would continue to burn, he took off his waistcoat and hung it over their single chair before he sat down and picked up his book. Periodically, he glanced over at Joe. Joe’s eyes were closed, but he wasn’t sleeping. He had one arm under his head and the other splayed on his stomach, one leg bent at the knee. Had he read this section already? Nicky frowned and read it again. Joe’s fingers were tapping against his shirt. 

“How’s your book, Nicolò?” There was a small smile playing on his mouth. 

Nicky closed the book, not even bothering to mark the place. “Come here.”

There must have been something in his voice, because Joe didn’t even protest, he just swung himself out of bed. He walked languidly towards Nicky, his faded white shirt unbuttoned at the neckline contrasting against his brown skin. When he stopped by the side of the chair, Nicky reached for his hand and ran his thumb over the knuckles. He looked up at Joe and brought the hand to his lips. 

“See, they’ve made a gentleman out of you, love.” 

Nicky turned Joe’s hand over and kissed his palm, lingered there and opened his mouth, tasting the skin there for a moment. He looked up at him and grinned. 

“How would you like to have a gentleman suck you off?” 

Joe hummed and threaded his free hand through Nicky’s hair, sending a shiver down his back. “Very much. Do you know any?” 

Nicky gripped Joe at the waistline of his pantaloons, dragging his shirt up to skim his fingers over the warm skin of his stomach. “Maybe.” 

Joe’s eyes were dark and intense as he brushed Nicky’s hair away from his forehead. Unbuttoning the pantaloons, Nicky pushed them down past his hips along with his cotton drawers. Without breaking eye contact, he circled his fingers at the base of Joe’s cock. He leaned in and took the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, watching as Joe’s eyes fluttered closed and his mouth parted. 

Gripping Joe’s hips, Nicky took more of the cock into the warmth of his mouth. The familiar taste of it made his blood rush and he inhaled, a soft, muffled moan mingling with the crackling of the fire. It was odd to feel so comforted by a cock in his mouth. The weight of it, the taste of it, the pressure of Joe’s hand in his hair, was the same no matter what year it was, no matter where they were in the world. A pang of affection made his heart race. 

He moved one hand down to grip his own cock, already hard, as he took as much of Joe as he could, hollowing his mouth around it. Both of Joe’s hands cradled his head, one tugging on his hair, making Nicky’s cock twitch with want. Joe groaned, and when Nicky looked up, he was once again looking at him, eyes lidded with desire. Nicky let the cock slide in and out of his mouth, holding Joe’s gaze. 

“My Nicolò,” Joe rasped, one hand brushing his cheek, thumb coming to rest at the corner of his mouth. “My love.” He thrust carefully into Nicky’s mouth, slowly taking control of the pace. “My dirty little gentleman. If only they could see you now.” 

Nicky’s face flushed and he moaned around the cock sliding over his tongue, picturing Miss Maugham and her father walking in on him getting his mouth fucked. His hand squeezed his dick so hard it hurt for a moment. “Oh, you like that,” Joe said, smug, and Nicky knew Joe would spill before he came with a long, drawn out groan. 

Nicky sucked him through it until Joe pulled away and drew Nicky to his feet to give him a messy kiss. Joe batted Nicky’s hand away from his straining cock to stroke him until Nicky came with his head buried into Joe’s neck. They stood like that, Nicky’s heavy breath fanning across his skin before he leaned in and let his swollen lips brush the point where Joe’s pulse raced, Joe’s arms circled across his back. 

“We have to buy me new clothes if I’m playing cards at the Maughams’,” Joe said, and Nicky smiled. 

*

Sipping on a gin and tonic, Nicky sat in a chair by the window, watching Joe as he charmed everyone around the table. He’d integrated seamlessly into the group like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was fascinating how Joe could turn that on when he wanted to, even if that wasn’t often. There was something about the glint in his eyes that seemed to loosen most anyone’s defenses, even perfect strangers. This let Nicky take a moment to observe more than participate, for which he was grateful. 

The peace didn’t last long, however, as one of the night’s guests sat down in the empty chair next to him. He was a tall, dark-haired gentleman with high cheekbones and a sharp chin, his clothes much more expensive than Nicky’s. They had been introduced at the start of the evening, but Nicky couldn’t remember his name for the life of him. He supposed real gentlemen never forgot names.

“Sitting out another round, Mr. Giraldi?” The man asked, leaning back in a practiced show of confidence. 

“Not much for cards, I’m afraid,” Nicky said. “At least not unless there’s money involved.”

The gentleman laughed and leaned closer. “Don’t tell Miss Annie, but I feel much the same.” 

They both looked over at the table where Miss Annie and her friend, Miss Elisabeth, were laughing and gesturing at one of the men opposite them. Nicky’s gaze drifted to Joe for a brief moment. 

“Miss Annie is wonderful, isn’t she?” The gentleman said, apparently misunderstanding who Nicky was looking at. 

“She’s very lovely. As is Miss Elisabeth.”

Lord Beckett. That was the name. 

“Why don’t you join me for a card game we would both enjoy more?” Lord Beckett said and held out a calling card that confirmed Nicky’s guess. “My friends and I play a much more interesting game.”

“Well, it has been a while since I’ve lost a decent amount of money.” 

Lord Beckett laughed, and rapped his knuckles on the table between them. “It’s decided then. I’ll send an invitation to your residence.”

Nicky gave him the name of the hotel and asked, as casually as possible, who would be hosting the gambling. 

“Lord Alexander Howard.”

Only hundreds of years of practice allowed Nicky to reply in a level voice. “Oh, I’ll say. You run in important circles, Lord Beckett.”

“You’d be hard-pressed to find someone Alexander isn’t friendly with. He would be thrilled to have you sit in on a game. You should bring your friend, as well.”

“Mr. Giraldi!” Miss Annie called, waving him over. “Do join us. You can’t just sit there by the window, you’ll catch a dreadful cold sitting in the draft.” 

He excused himself from Lord Beckett with a helpless shrug and joined an empty seat next to Joe. The group had switched to a different game, and Nicky watched the cards being delt. 

“Not quite sure I know this one.”

“Oh, we’ll teach you, won’t we, Mr. Pacelli?”

“Of course,” Joe said, his arm brushing against Nicky’s. 

*

“You look like sin.” Nicky circled his arms around Joe’s back, pressing him closer. “In these fucking clothes.” 

He leaned against the headboard with Joe straddling him, their faces inches apart. “Now you know how I have felt,” Joe said, voice low. He nuzzled against Nicky, his beard scratchy against Nicky’s cheek. “Watching you walk around in your gentleman’s clothes like you don’t know how unbearably attractive you look.” 

Nicky slipped his hands down the small of Joe’s back, over the curve of his ass, and settled them there. They kissed, slow and deep, until Nicky’s heart beat heavily in his chest. 

They ended up sitting just like that, Joe sinking down on his cock, his arms around Nicky’s shoulders. Their kiss went from languid to intense and then back again as Joe rocked back and forth in his lap, the rolls of his hips slow and measured. He was pliant in Nicky’s arms, all warm comfort and laid-back affection. They held each other, rocking together in an unhurried ebb and flow. 

Nicky brushed hair way from Joe’s forehead, skimming his fingers down his cheek, across his sharp jaw and on his neck, over the swell of his shoulder and down the length of his back. Joe’s muscles shifted under his hands as they moved together, their pleasure drawn out. When Joe came, Nicky bracketed his face with his hands and held him there, kissing him as Joe’s uneven breath ghosted across his lips. 

“We need to kill him,” Joe said as they lay in bed, Nicky’s head resting on his chest as Joe ran his fingers through his hair. 

“The plan was to expose him. For the women. For everyone’s peace of mind. Killing him won’t do any of that.”

“I know that.” Joe paused. “But we have to consider that this man is not just a lord, he is one of the most important people in the country. He gets invited to the palace. For people to believe he did it, we need overwhelming evidence. We need to prove, without any doubt, that he murdered them. I don’t think we have that evidence, and we might never get it.” 

Nicky pulled back and leaned onto his elbow. “And in the meantime—”

“In the meantime, he could kill any number of people. He’s dangerous. He takes risks.” Joe looked at him, his expression grave. “Frankly, hard evidence might not even be enough. Powerful people protect other powerful people.” 

“I think we should go to the game and try, one last time, to find evidence. People need… closure,” he settled on. 

When Joe’s face broke into a smile, Nicky frowned in confusion. 

“I love that you still care,” Joe said, brushing his thumb across Nicky’s jaw. “After all these years, people still matter to you, even as you see them come and go. I don’t know how you do it.” 

“You do too.”

Joe shook his head. “Not like you do.” 

Nicky ducked his head, studying the pattern of their bedsheets. 

“We’ll look for evidence to expose him,” Joe said. “But, Nicolò, if he tries anything, we kill him. It has gone on long enough.”

*

*

They only heard whispers first. Their apartment was in the area where Whitechapel bled into Aldgate, and when Joe returned from his daily walk around the neighborhood early in the morning of Saturday, November 10th, he had a troubled look. 

“People are on edge. There are rumors,” he said, and Nicky pressed his lips together, looking out onto the street below, hands cupped around his mug of tea.

People were milling to and from on the cobblestone streets, but they were looking over their shoulders and hurrying towards their destination. Few were lingering to speak to each other. 

“There’s been another one,” Nicky said and looked at Joe who gave a strained nod. 

“Probably.”

They went out onto the streets, making their way into Whitechapel. The same tense energy lingered in every street, but there was no reliable information from any conversation they caught bits and pieces of. More windows than normal were dark. 

Nicky felt a sudden burst of rage. Lord Alexander Howard, Duke of Winchester, confidant to the royals, came to the poorest, the sickest, the most desperate parts of town, to inflict even more pain on the people who spent their lives there. Women, who were victims of circumstances far beyond Lord Alexander Howard’s comprehension, were nothing but a rich man’s plaything. A lord who was greedy. A lord who wasn’t content being a lord. A lord who wanted to be God. 

They were walking towards Spitalfields when one of Joe’s regular sources jogged across the street as he saw them, his young face grave. He wore a hat that was pulled low, hiding much of his sandy hair. 

“There’s been another one, up on Dorset Street,” he said, grim. “Murdered in her bed. Worse than all of them combined, they say.”

Joe and Nicky shared a look. 

“Worse, how?” Joe asked. 

The man lowered his voice. “Her head was tucked under her arm. And that’s the least of it.” He didn’t give any more details, but followed them back the way he’d come until they neared Dorset Street.

While Joe ran into more of his regular sources, Nicky walked lost in thought until he heard the calls of news from a young man, waving today’s paper at passersby. He crossed the street and pressed money into the boy’s hand. For a brief moment, he avoided looking down at the front page, until he shook out of it, and forced himself to glance down. 

Returning to Joe, he pushed the newspaper into his hand and turned around to look at a child playing in the street, her delighted laugh a stark contrast to the events of the morning. Soon, her mother came out and ushered her inside. 

“We should have killed him sooner,” Nicky said when Joe looked up again. 

“We can kill him now.”

*

Nicky arrived alone to Lord Alexander’s London residence. It was raining heavily, so he’d been forced to get a carriage the whole way, as to not arrive looking like a drowned cat. It was another dip into their stash of emergency cash, but he’d already had to dip into it to bring money to gamble with. He still wasn’t sure how he would avoid losing it all. 

The large oak door swung open and he was greeted by the butler who let him into the warmth of the house. It was a tastefully decorated hall and if he didn’t know he was in the house of a ruthless killer, it would feel homey. 

As the butler led the way up the stairs, Nicky wondered where Joe had managed to hide. Joe had snuck in earlier in the day, blending into a bustle of servants and men delivering food and alcohol to the house. Nicky had heard nothing from him since, naturally, and could only assume he’d made it. Their loose plan was that Joe would look for evidence while the duke was occupied with the game. At this point, Nicky would rather kill him anyway, but with evidence, there was at least a chance that the London he’d terrorized would find peace of mind. 

“Gentlemen,” said the butler, as they reached an open door. “Mr. Nunzio Giraldi.” 

The parlor was heavy with cigar smoke and five men sat around a table in the middle of the room. In one end of the room, a roaring fire was blazing, and outside the rain was beating against the windows. 

“Mr. Giraldi, what a pleasure to meet you.” Lord Alexander rose from his seat and stepped forward. He was tall, with a charming lilt to his smile and piercing blue eyes. The dissonance between the evil he was capable of and the affable way he carried himself would have surprised Nicky if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d lived for hundreds of years. “Come, we have saved you a seat.”

Presentations were made, and Nicky took his seat between Lord Beckett and another man he’d previously met at a dinner with the Maughams. When offered a drink, he accepted a gin and tonic, and watched the round of cards that they had already begun before he’d arrived. 

“Do you know _brag_?” Lord Beckett asked, after he’d folded, leaving only Howard and the Marquess of Derby. 

“I’ve played a few rounds,” Nicky said, which was true enough. 

The Marquess won the round, to groans from the others. He seemed to have had the luck of the evening. 

“We’ll play the classic three cards, then,” Lord Alexander said, as he dealt three cards to each of them. “No extras.”

“No need to make exceptions for me,” Nicky said, holding his hands up. “I’m quite used to giving away all my fortunes at the cards table.”

Lord Beckett narrowed his eyes and pointed at him. “I see what you’re doing. You think you can fool us into complacency.” 

“That old trick doesn’t work on us,” the Marquess said. “We’ve all tried it.”

Nicky grinned and picked up his cards. “Worth a shot.” 

*

An hour into their game, conversation flowed easily. The mood was light and amusing stories were shared over the exchange of money. Nothing had been mentioned of the gruesome murder that had happened in a London worlds away from this. Nicky supposed that if they cared, it would only be about the mystery of it all. It was so far removed from the smoky parlor and the easy banter of affluent men. 

Eventually, Nicky excused himself. He went to the bathroom, knowing that snooping anywhere else was too risky, and found a large room with the biggest bath he’d ever seen. He turned to the sink and faced himself in the mirror. 

“Fucking finally,” Joe said and Nicky jumped, nearly kneeing the bathroom sink in the process. 

“ _Yusuf_ ,” he hissed and turned to find Joe sitting in the tub, grinning. 

“You’re adorable.”

“We’re in the house of a killer and you jump out at me in the bathroom.”

“It’s not like he can kill you.”

“Technically, you don’t know that.”

Joe waved the words away and pushed himself up. 

“What if anyone else had come in?”

“They have, but this room is enormous. There are at least three places for me to hide.” He sat down onto the edge of the tub. “Listen, I haven’t found much. Not that I expected him to leave bloody knives around the place.”

“Figures.”

“But he’s complacent.” 

“How so?”

“His bedroom is easily accessible through the library next door and the joint balcony. There’s also an easy escape route. All we need to figure out is how you leave after the game and return unseen.”

“The Whitechapel murderer doesn’t think anyone will find him,” Nicky said. 

“The bane of the rich and powerful. They think their wealth and power will protect them, to the bitter end.”

“I don’t want to hurt any of the staff unnecessarily,” Nicky said. “I’ll have to figure out a way in that doesn’t lead—”

“There’s a door that leads to the garden on the east side. It’s not heavy and it doesn’t creak. It’s quite far from the servant’s chambers. If I stay, you can return when it’s well into the night. The house should be asleep and I should be able to let you in.”

“What if you can’t?”

“If I have to silence someone, I will. Even if I don’t like it.”

Nicky tapped a finger against his lips and sighed. “When?”

“3 o’clock, unless the card game runs very late.” Joe walked over and kissed him before turning him towards the door. “Now go.”

*

The game ended at midnight and Nicky hadn’t been able to turn down Lord Beckett’s offer to drop him off at his hotel. It was a slight hitch in the plan, and it meant Nicky had to walk the entire way back to Lord Alexander’s residence, but he would make it in time. It had also, thankfully, stopped raining at some point during the evening. 

In the end, his pocket watch told him he was too early and he hid in a nearby alley for a while, until it was time to climb the gate at the back of the property. He made it over with little issues, even if he almost fell on the slippery stone path he landed on. Quietly, he crept towards the door, knowing he was exposed if anyone other than Joe opened the door. He didn’t want to leave any footprints in the wet soil on either side of the path, and that left him no other options than standing right in the open. 

At 3 on the dot, the door opened slowly and he slipped inside, letting Joe’s warm hand guide him through the quiet house. It was dark and undisturbed. The whole house was asleep and the heavy carpets muffled their steps. It was fascinating just how safe Lord Alexander felt in his own home. 

Eventually, Joe pulled him into the library and closed the door slowly behind them until it clicked into place. Like he’d said, the library and the master bedroom were connected by a balcony and it was the easiest thing in the world to slip out and then into Lord Alexander’s bedroom through the balcony door. It was locked, but Joe had it open in less than a minute. 

Lord Alexander Howard didn’t wake until Joe had him in a headlock, knife tip pressed against the side of his neck. 

“How do you do, my lord?” Joe said, looking down at him. 

Howard struggled, eyes wide with panic, but Joe’s grip was impossible to wrench out of. He tried to elbow Joe in the stomach, but it was a feeble attempt.

“Would you like to make a formal confession?” Nicky said and reached into the inner pocket of his coat, taking out paper and a fountain pen.

Howard just glared at him, trying to pry Joe’s arm away from his neck. 

“No?” Nicky shrugged. “A written confession would preserve your notoriety forever. People will remember you and all you accomplished. Your name, written into history. No longer just another bored nobleman.”

Lord Alexander’s heavy breathing was the only sound until he suddenly rasped, “I didn’t do it for the notoriety.” He paused, eyes glinting. “I enjoyed it.”

“What a coincidence,” Joe said, pressing the knife into Lord Alexander Howard’s neck. “I’ll enjoy this too.”

*

The sun rose over London as Nicky and Joe walked along the South Bank. They’d taken a meandering route back from the duke’s residence to walk by the Thames one more time. In a couple of days, they would have to leave town, only lingering to avoid the suspicion an immediate escape would garner. If he was unlucky, Nicky would probably face questions from the police, but there was little that tied him to the scene of the crime. If they ever discovered he didn’t stay at the hotel, he’d be long gone anyway. 

Oddly, he thought he might miss London. Not going to the opera, or even his evenings at the Maughams’, but their little apartment in Aldgate, the little pub, the people in Whitechapel. Joe would tease him about it if he knew. Nicky always became nostalgic when it was time to leave.

The sky was golden yellow and London was slowly coming to life as they walked. When Nicky looked over at Joe, he was backlit by the light of morning. 

“I think I need a holiday,” Joe said, shielding his eyes as he looked out across the river. “Before Andy finds us again.”

Something had been coming to Nicky’s mind lately, something he’d quite forgotten until he realized their stay was coming to an end. “ _Exposition Universelle_ is opening in May.”

Joe broke into a wide smile. “Of course! How could I forget?”

“I don’t know, love,” Nicky said. “You would have complained for all eternity if you missed another world fair. I still haven’t heard the end of Philadelphia in 76.”

“I didn’t get to see Graham Bell’s telephone. It was a true tragedy and I won’t have it repeated.” Joe held a hand against his heart. “I heard _Exposition Universelle_ will have the tallest building in the world.”

They walked in a brief silence, their arms brushing against each other, until Joe’s hand held his for a moment. “And besides, you look beautiful in Paris.”

**Author's Note:**

> All titles, like the Duke of Winchester, have been made up. Alexander Howard is also a fictional name. In no way do I want to imply that any past dukes from Britain were Jack the Ripper. There are, of course, many theories and I don't have have the answer! 
> 
> I chose to stick to a timeline that only includes the canonical five victims. Some theories connect other murders that continue after 1888 to the same murderer, but the canonical five end with Mary Jane Kelly. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! ♥


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